Page 6 of It's a Date (Again)

“I still get recognized from it.” He squints.

“Sorry,” she says.

“You’re a stand-up comedian?” I ask.

Robbie laughs. “She’s funnier than you are, Maya.”

“I know that’s not a question.” She gives me a teasing look.

There’s a knock at the door. An older man with graying hair pops his partially balding head in. He wears a guise of determination and a white doctor’s coat. A stethoscope hangs freely from his neck. “Welcome back, Peyton. I’m Dr.Hersh.”

“Hi, Dr.Hersh,” I say.

“I hear you’re having some difficulty with your memory.” He strolls into the room, carrying a file folder.

“Yeah, I don’t remember ... anything, I think.” Thoughts roll through my brain as I try to conjure up memories. But they’re not memories that come to the forefront of my mind. They’re just names of things that I know, or at least I think I know. Like states. Wisconsin. Illinois. New York. Then I think of animals. Dog. Cat. Cow. I glance around the room, noting the things I see. Chair. Bed. Flowers. TV. Hot guy. Funny girl. Doctor.

“Anything? What’s your name?” He studies my face.

“Peyton.”

“She doesn’t actually remember that. I told her her name,” Maya says.

“What about your last name?”

Robbie gives me a pleading look, like he’s sayingPlease, Peyton. You remember. Just say it.I glance at Maya. Her mouth sits partially open asthough she’s about to tell me the correct answer but she doesn’t. “I don’t know,” I say to Dr.Hersh.

“That’s all right,” he says. “Your name is Peyton Sanders.”

He’s trying to be encouraging but he’s not. There’s nothing positive about not knowing your own name.

“What about your friends? Can you tell me their names?” the doctor asks.

“Robbie and Maya.”

“We told her those too,” Maya says. “What’s my last name?”

I examine her face, hoping the answer to her question will reveal itself. A beauty mark sits a half inch above her full lips, a little off to the right. She has high cheekbones, but the rest of her features are soft. Her complexion is a warm beige with golden undertones. I stare into her large brown eyes flecked with gold, but the answer doesn’t come to me.

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head.

She sighs and rubs my shoulder with her manicured hand. “That’s okay. It’s James, by the way. Maya James.”

“Maya James,” I repeat, trying to commit it to my memory.

Robbie clears his throat. “And I’m Robbie Parker.” He pats the top of my hand.

“Robbie Parker,” I say.

Dr.Hersh pulls a clipboard from the end of my bed and reads from it before opening the file folder he carried in. He scribbles some notes down.

“How long have I been here?”

“You were brought in four days ago,” Dr.Hersh says, briefly watching me before returning his attention to the paperwork.

“I’ve been in a coma for four days?”

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “Do you remember the accident at all?”

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